


Time and Time Again

by Katbelle



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And there are certain things you cannot, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Groundhog Day, It's sort of a fix-it, M/M, Moral Lessons, Predestination, Romance, Temporary Character Death, There are certain things you can change, This is a spiral of despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katbelle/pseuds/Katbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert closes his eyes and throws himself off Pont-au-Change only to open his eyes in his room on the outskirts of M-sur-M, back in 1823. He quickly discovers that every death only resets his personal timeline to that precise point. It's not Hell, it turns out; and if it's not Hell then this is Purgatory, and that means there's a lesson here, somewhere. </p><p>Yes. There is. But not the one he's looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Time Again

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Снова и снова](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4773566) by [rose_rose (Escargot)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escargot/pseuds/rose_rose)



> This is the second fill for [the groundhog day prompt at the kink meme](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=701217#t1657889). This is the cracky one; I swear I tried to be serious, but I guess I've seen _Mystery Spot_ a hundred times too many to make a groundhog day scenario anything but depressing crack.
> 
> By which I mean you should all just go and read the other story. That one is glorious.
> 
> Dedicated to my lovely **Tannis** , who is infinitely patient with me, and to the amazing **Will** who gave me thumbs-up about the ending.

**Time and Time Again**

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

It takes a moment for his still asleep mind to process the fact that he is awake. Javert sits straight up and glances around the room. It is, most certainly, not a hospital room - not that he had expected to wake up in a hospital room, not after he distinctly remembers the sound of his own breaking spine and the not-there pain and the brief taste of Seine's muddy waters--He did not expect to wake up at all.

There's a knock on the door and a woman soon peeks in.

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, forgive me for waking you up, but my silly girl crushed the teapot," she says, sounding truly apologetical. Javert is good with faces and he recognizes her without trouble, though with much disbelief.

"Mirielle Thanoux," he breaths out incredulously. No, it can't be. Mirielle Thanoux, the Petite Madame. The woman who was his housekeeper during that long year at Montreuil-sur-Mer. It was not possible. Had he died and gone to Hell? Had she died and was damned alongside him?

Mirielle Thanoux blushes furiously.

"I was not aware Monsieur l'Inspecteur knew my name," she murmurs. And he did not, at least for another six months, at which point it was Monsieur le Maire who--

Montreuil-sur-Mer. Monsieur le Maire. _Valjean_.

Javert leaps out of the bed in nothing but a nightshirt he'd put on (twenty years ago) the night before, right after arriving at his new post. He strides to the window - startling the poor Madame in the process - and moves the curtains aside.

It's raining.

Just like it was raining that day.

Today.

"Should I bring your breakfast, Monsieur l'Inspecteur?" Mirielle asks.

"No," Javert answers curtly, too absorbed by the sound of the heavy rain hitting the dirty plane of the window. There's a sound of broken glass and a shout coming all the way from the ground floor of the house, followed by "Mama, those boys again!". Mirielle excuses herself and leaves Javert alone.

The Lord walks in mysterious ways, is the first thing that comes to Javert's mind. Javert has broken the laws of Heaven by letting Valjean go. He'd thought his death would be a just punishment for his failures; but maybe, just maybe, the good Lord had other plans. Maybe he'd let Javert correct his mistakes. Maybe Javert has been given the opportunity to make amends, back at the beginning of things.

Maybe.

Or maybe this was Hell, where Javert would be forever haunted by all the moments in which he failed at his duty by letting Valjean slip away.

Javert looks at the chair standing by his bed, where his uniform lays folded just as he'd left it. He reaches for it, dresses up, takes his hat. He leaves the room, goes downstairs where he passes Madame Thanoux and her daughter, despairing softly over two broken windows.

He could correct all his mistakes. He could go to Madeleine's factory right now and confront him, bring Jean Valjean to justice before he spends another year fooling the good people of this town. He could unmake the next decade of chasing that man and devote himself fully to worthier tasks. He could--

So... he does.

He rides in the rain past the gates of the town, past the beggars and filth. He feels a certain lightness across his soul, of the kind he hadn't felt since that day on the market (so many years from now, so long ago) when that scum Thenardier made him realize that Jean Valjean was once again close.

He waits in Madeleine's office, as he did before. Valjean walks in - tight smile on his face and apprehension in his eyes, how come Javert did not notice it the last time, or maybe he did but he ignored it, stupid, so utterly stupid - and greets him with a guarded, "welcome, Inspector". He bows his head.

Javert does not bow back.

"I know who you are," he states and Valjean pales, "24601."

He expects Valjean to bolt and run, as he is prone to, but the convict only bows his head again and sighs.

"At least allow me to leave instructions to the foreman?"

Oh, and there it is, the stalling. The "three days", the "this boy needs a hospital", the "a girl needs a home". But never again.

Javert orders a cart, intending to take the convict to a court. He needs no proof; Valjean himself is proof enough.

They never make it to the court. The horse bolts right behind the town's gate, startled by the beggars. It trashes wildly and the cart's wheel - it must have been faulty, otherwise it makes no sense - breaks and the cart falls to the side. The tiny window breaks and Javert is lucky enough to land with his head on the stone of the road.

He cracks his head open, he thinks briefly, and he doesn't hear the thin undercurrent of concern in Valjean's voice.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

The second attempt is no better than the first. He stalls, waits longer and doesn't go directly to Madeleine's office. He roams the streets and manages to find himself in the place of Fauchelevent, crushed beneath Fauchelevent's cart. Only this time, it's different. No one wants to be blamed for a policeman trapped under a cart so one screams for help readily. Valjean gets there eventually, but he's not fast enough.

He gets Javert out and holds him, and regards him with disbelieving eyes as Javert heaves a breath, spits out "Valjean" that's neither angry nor cutting and then says no more.

***

The third time he waits. He waits, and waits, and allows the whore Fantine to embrace who she is. And he writes to the prefect and does not accept the letter he receives in return. He confronts Valjean and speaks not of the letter. Valjean asks for three days to find the child Cosette.

Javert declines.

There's a fight, a rapier versus a candlestick, and Valjean gets angry, and he strikes too hard, and Javert does not duck at the right moment, and there's pain and feral fear in Valjean's eyes (he's never been this afraid before, Javert thinks) and then there's nothing.

***

He tries two more times.

Once, he waits till the hospital, till the whore is dead. Then, he goes after Valjean and drowns. He likes that kind of death least of all.

The second time, he does not go to the hospital at all. He rides straight to Montfermeil, where the child Cosette is living. It almost works out. But an argument erupts between customers of the inn, and knives are taken out. Javert not so much loses account of what happens as much as he simply loses blood.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

Again.

***

Javert is almost losing track of this endless loop of days and months and years. This is worse than Hell.

One day (and this might be the eighth time, but he's not sure), he takes his gun and shoots Monsieur le Maire in his office. He's a little bit annoyed by everything, he admits. In turn, he dies from a bullet fired by a local gendarme, one of those who accompanied him to the factory in the morning. The boy is young, barely of age, blindly loyal to the Mayor he knows nothing of. He's inexperienced and his hand shakes so it takes Javert good long minutes to die, choking on his own blood.

It's almost poetic, Javert thinks in his last moments, the way his body lies on the floor in a perfect mirror image of that of Valjean, and the way their hands almost brush.

It is sufficient to say that no one ever finds out why Inspector Javert did it.

Not like anyone would care anyway.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

He is in no mood to start this again, not when the last attempt was most certainly the shortest of all. It almost seemed as if Valjean was not the problem. Javert bolts up. Maybe Valjean is not the problem, after all. But if not the convict - it pains Javert less than he imagined, to admit that - then who?

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, forgive me for waking you up, but my silly girl crushed the teapot."

Mirielle Thanoux smiles brightly from the doorway. Javert hasn't heard her knock and she must have, for nothing substantial ever changes in this personal Hell of his.

"I was not sleeping," he lies far too easily. Mirielle does not seem to believe him, but she does not press further. She walks into the room and parts the curtains.

"Blasted weather," she comments. "And to think that the mayor would want you to ride all the way to the town in this rain. Should I bring your breakfast, Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"

"No. And I believe I won't be visiting the mayor today," Javert hears himself say and, even more surprisingly, he finds himself meaning it. If it's not Valjean, it's someone else, and he needs to discover who.

"I am sure Monsieur Madeleine will not mind," Mirielle says. "He's a good man."

A good man. Who had given his life to helping people of this town and then has thrown it all away for one orphan girl. Whom Javert has seen caring for this town for a year three times now.

Maybe it isn't Valjean after all.

Maybe it's that whore, the one who made him write to the prefect the first time round.

There's a sound of broken glass and a shout coming all the way from the ground floor of the house, followed by "Mama, those boys again!". Mirielle excuses herself and leaves Javert alone.

Javert dresses himself in the uniform - he has just arrived here and has no other clothes, even though he's been living here for years and years now and it just would not stop - and goes downstairs. He's almost by the door when he notices the tears on Mirielle's face, streaming down as she sweeps the shards of broken glass from the floor.

How many times has he already walked out that door? Too many to count. And yet he doesn't recall ever asking what happened.

"What happened?"

"Just boys," Mirielle gives no real answer besides this and, for the first time, Javert notices her eyeing his uniform suspiciously.

"It's because of Papa," the Thanoux daughter, Jeanne, supplies. Mirielle hisses at her while Javert thinks over this new information. Jacques Thanoux was an unremarkable man - tall and skinny, with unruly white hair. A worker in Madeleine's factory and, from what Javert observed without truly wanting to, a devoted husband and father. There is nothing about him that would warrant throwing stones at his windows.

"Is there anything I should know about?" Javert asks. He remembers nothing bad being said about the innkeeper and his wife that first time, when he cared enough to ask. He remembers them being praised as honest and trustworthy, and he thinks he remembers Madeleine speaking highly of Monsieur Thanoux's hard work. But here Mirielle Thanoux sags on herself in a resigned way and puts down her broom.

"Jeanne, go and make bed in Monsieur l'Inspecteur's room," she orders her daughter and Jeanne obeys without much fuss. Maybe it's the woman's tone. Mirielle sits by a small table and, when she finally speaks, she does not look at Javert.

"I am unsure what you have been told of my husband prior to taking residence here," she says, "and I understand if you would not want to continue living here any moment longer, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."

Unlikely. Javert is a lonely man of solitary needs and, throughout the three years he had lived again and again in this town, he never cared to find a place of his own. Never needed to.

"The boys act out their fathers' anger," Mirielle carries on quietly. "They could not understand why Monsieur le Maire has given my husband a job and not to one of them, even though my husband comes from a merchant family and has dealt with money his whole life. They do not understand how Monsieur Madeleine could give my husband a chance."

A chance. Javert thinks he knows where this confession is heading and he does not like that. Still, he asks.

"My husband… He has spent six years in Rochefort," Mirielle whispers and her cheeks are burning in shame. "He could not get an honest job, after his release. And then Monsieur Madeleine came, and he did not care in the slightest, he saw my Jacques for the good merchant he was, and Jacques--The times were tough during the wars," Mirielle whispers fervently, "we did not have enough money and Jeanne was little, and Jacques just stole a bottle of milk for her."

That's all it takes, to be damned, to Rochefort or Toulon. A bottle of milk. Perhaps a loaf of bread. That stirs a memory long forgotten. A loaf of bread, for a sister's dying child. Just a loaf of bread.

It should not matter. Theft is still theft.

Mirielle watches him expectantly. Javert clears his throat.

"I would like that breakfast now, Madame Thanoux."

The woman stares at him in silence for a moment more, then leaps off her chair and busies herself with preparing the best breakfast she has ever served Javert in all the time he has known her. Javert does not go see Valjean that day.

That is a most unfortunate decision on his part. Those unruly boys come back again, with more and bigger stones. One knocks down a candle Mirielle Thanoux has put on the small table to make the room brighter and the breakfast nicer. In a few minutes, the house is on fire. Jeanne Thanoux is still upstairs, tidying Javert's room. It is impossible to go fetch her and still come out alive.

Javert, the fool that he is, tries anyway.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

He decides, that next day, that if Valjean is not the problem of this town, it's the whore.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

The easiest way to deal with this, Javert reasons with himself as he walks up the creaking stairs to M. Madeleine's office, is to keep that woman from being turned away from the factory altogether. If she were to keep her post, she would never turn to immoral ways. There would be no whore Fantine, there would be no grudge against the mayor, there would be no child for Valjean to run away with.

The problem would resolve itself, if God's willing.

In the office, Javert wills himself not to pace, to stand still by the door and listen in for the argument he knows will come. From his spot by the window he observes as Valjean calmly brings order to the women's quarrel, then looks up and stops dead in his tracks. Fear flashes on his face, although he quickly schools it into the pleasantly surprised expression he always wears when they meet for the first time. 

Down in the factory hall the foreman looms over the woman; she strikes him, then bolts to run so the stairs calling for Monsieur le Maire when he tries to grab her. Valjean pauses for a moment, hearing the woman's broken plea, looks ready to turn away and go back, but he does not, ultimately. He readies himself, straightens his back - as if the height difference between him and Javert was a consolation, or a shield of sorts - and walks into the office with a grimace on his face. That expression could belong to a man who is displeased with being interrupted and that is what Javert took it for, once. Now he knows better.

"Welcome, Inspector."

Valjean bows his head. Javert returns the courtesy.

"Monsieur le Maire." He takes off his hat but does not reach for the letter. Valjean's brow arches in question. "I believe one of your workers is in need of your help, Monsieur," he says finally, when the silence has stretched for too long already and Javert fears that the woman might be already gone from the street.

"I have heard," Valjean admits, "but she will have to wait. A guest such as you--"

"I can wait," Javert interrupts him, a tad harsher than he intended to. He apologizes for his tone instantly, making the corners of Valjean's lips uplift in a mildly amused fashion. "I believe…" he trails off. "I believe your foreman has sent her away out of spite."

Valjean does not inquire how Javert knows it; the mere mention of a possible injustice inflicted upon one of his charges is enough to send Valjean running after the woman. He will apologize to her and learn of her fate, Javert thinks, he will be moved by her story and he will swear his help, like he swears it to everyone, like he tries to save everyone. His town will thrive, and no one will need for a police inspector.

Minutes pass, Valjean does not come back. Nothing happens. Javert breathes a sigh of relief; he pushes the office door and moves towards the factory exit.

Curiously, the wooden stairs choose this precise moment to break.

He falls.

It is not pleasant and it is one of the most ridiculous deaths up to date, but it is mercifully short.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

Mirielle Thanoux comes to apologize for waking him, yet Javert does not listen. He sits on the edge of his bed, silently cursing Fantine and this town, and Valjean, for good measure if undeservedly. 

Maybe there was a lesson there for Fantine in her grim fate. He would simply need to wait and observe how the events unfold and pray for the best.

***

This time, surely.

***

He does not become Valjean's shadow but it is a close thing. He hears whispers here and there, of people calling him the mayor's obedient dog, and it is not true but is not entirely wrong either.

He takes to spending time with Monsieur le Maire, out of pure necessity. He learns of the mayor's plans for sewers and lodgings and schools, hears stories of how Monsieur Madeleine has single-handedly saved the town's economy and the people from poverty. He does not want to believe those stories, but he can't not. It does not mean, however, that he agrees with any of those plans. Sometimes he even takes the liberty to voice those opinions.

If, by some strange coincidence, the mayor starts smiling more, it has surely nothing to do with Javert.

"He is so lonely, our Monsieur Madeleine," Mirielle Thanoux says one day when Javert is passing by her, as if in hopes he would hear it and care about it. Javert stops, facing away from her, to listen to what she has to say, but it is not because he cares.

He does not.

"He is," her husband agrees with a laugh. He too fixes Javert's back with a stern glance. "But he always lights up when he talks of the arguments he has with our dear inspector."

Javert resumes his walk upstairs. He does not dine that evening.

***

"Would you like to join me for dinner, Inspector?" Valjean asks politely the next day. Javert's heart first stops then leaps wildly as if it was going to burst from his chest.

"No!" he says hastily.

Valjean does not look pleased but he does not press either. He leaves Javert be.

***

"There is a woman, near--near the port."

"A prostitute, you mean?"

Javert nods. 

"She used to work in your factory, Monsieur."

Valjean puts down his pen and makes a gesture to encourage Javert to speak further of this. Javert takes a steadying breath.

"She is--sick." Not yet and maybe she will never be if this works out the way it should. "And she has a child that needs protection."

That, finally, sparks Valjean's interest.

"A child?" he asks. Javert nods. Valjean always brightens at the mention of children. "What of it?"

"It is staying with an innkeeper and his wife in Montfermeil. I--I have reasons to believe that the child is being mistreated."

It is not strictly true. Javert knows next to nothing about the child's fate; he does know, however, that such a statement will surely move Valjean to action. He will take interest in Fantine and the girl now.

"Then we cannot allow for the child to stay there any longer. Inspector," Valjean rises from behind his desk, "please find the child's mother and make sure she receives proper care. I, in turn, will find the child."

It was so easy. Almost as if too easy. Javert's heart is beating fast and only gains speed when Valjean smiles fondly at him before leaving his office. All he has to do now is to find the woman and keep her safe, and it will be all ov--

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

No. 

_No._

Javert decides to simply stay in bed, this time.

He still dies. 

Suffocates, he thinks, but is not sure and does not particularly care.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

Maybe Fantine had to sunk so low so that Valjean would have someone to save, not only help, he thinks. Maybe, maybe that was it. That would mean another year, but maybe this time.

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, forgive me for waking you up, but my silly girl crushed the teapot," Mirielle Thanoux says as she opens the door. Javert does not look over at her.

"No breakfast," he grumbles and turns to the side.

***

It's a long year indeed.

***

"I would like your opinion on this, Inspector."

Valjean smiles a gentle smile while handing Javert a sheet of paper. Javert has once commented on the mayor's plans but this, this never happened before, the mayor has never outright asked his opinion on anything. Javert reads through the paper. It is a letter of proposal of how to improve the sewers system, how it would slow down the spread of diseases and how it would better the lives of the poor at the outskirts of town. It's addressed to one of the ministers in Paris, but the mayor is not asking for money; it's a simple informative note, a courtesy extended by a man who was willing to finance it all from his own pocket. Javert swallows thickly and hands the letter back.

"I do not see how my opinion would change Monsieur le Maire's mind."

Valjean's smile widens at that.

"It would not," he admits, "but I value your opinion nonetheless, Javert."

"It is flawlessly written," Javert says finally because what else could he say. That he is surprised by Valjean's clever mind? That he does not understand why Valjean cares about what he, Javert, thinks? It's not like he can say any of those things, so he settles for the easiest truth.

Valjean positively laughs at that and Javert thinks his ears might have reddened a little.

***

This is how it starts.

***

It grows slowly, like a delicate flower striving to find light amongst the shadow of mighty trees in a deep forest. It grows with every laugh shared with Javert - and not aimed at him, as he once, so many years ago, thought - with every conversation at Madeleine's office, every small smile and every dinner invitation that Javert always declines and Valjean always makes again. Valjean is nothing if not patient and stubborn.

The first winter (again) of his stay in Montreuil-sur-Mer turns into spring into early summer. Paris has once again congratulated Monsieur le Maire on his noble deeds and offered no support of their own. The woman Fantine was trying hard to still stand some moral ground but would soon - too soon and yet not soon enough - fall all the way. Javert still refused the mayor's offers of friendship.

"I have been meaning to ask for some time now," Valjean asks one day, in late June - when days are warm and long, bonfires are lit and people are merry, "about your name, Inspector. Do you have a patron saint?"

Javert stops writing his report but does not lift his head. He wishes not to discuss the matter with anyone, let alone Valjean who's smiling that irritatingly amused smile, one that's new, one that Javert is not used to. He is Javert, the inspector. Nothing more but certainly nothing less.

"No," he answers, too sharply and not at all in the way he intended, more defensive and he hates that. Valjean looks at him pointedly for a good minute before he sighs and accepts the answer for what it is. The amused smile disappears and Valjean does not ask again.

***

Winter comes and snow with it, and Javert is still not the mayor's friend. He passes Fantine in the street one evening and she coughs, and tries to hide that cough in a short sleeve of a crimson dress. It will not be long now.

There are always town matters to occupy Monsieur le Maire but he still - for some unfathomable reason - seeks out his Inspector's mind. The dinner invitations still arrive and the amused smile is almost perpetually etched onto Valjean's face. It unnerves Javert, who does not know what the smile means.

And then comes a day when the mayor asks Javert to accompany him to the docks, for it snowed hard the night before and there are people there in need of help. That is the night, Javert decides, and says yes.

He will not intervene this time, he swears to himself. He will not come to that man's aid, he will not threaten Fantine with arrest. He will let Valjean take the woman to the hospital, swear his help; he might help him find the child, would the mayor ask for that help. But he will not intervene.

They arrive together in the docks and the scene before their eyes is different, yet Javert cannot decide why. Maybe it's not so late in the night. Perhaps Fantine seems fiercer than he recalls her, more agitated, more willing to hurt. Valjean goes to the woman's defence, but she - in her no doubt drunken state - does not recognize it for the courtesy that it is. Without Javert's threat of arrest, Valjean is no saint saving a fallen woman, he is but another man coming too close to her. Javert stays his ground.

He is unsure of where she'd taken the small knife. Maybe from the other man's pocket, maybe she'd had it all along, maybe it is Valjean's and he is not so trusting after all. But there is a knife and then there's a struggle, and instincts are tougher to ignore than reason and Javert intervenes.

It amazes him, very briefly, that his own blood has the same deep red colour as Fantine's dress.

"Javert!"

Valjean tries to steady him and when that fails, he simply puts an arm under Javert's knees and lifts him with a grunt. Javert is not slight in build and is not a half-starved petite woman in a crimson dress; he's a man of almost Valjean's height in a crimson shirt.

Javert thinks he recalls this scene, Valjean carrying Fantine back to town, to a hospital. But now Fantine's been left behind in the docks, and Valjean all but barks at some passing gendarmes to hold her for assault and the harm she'd inflicted upon his Inspector. That's not how it was supposed to go, muses Javert, but he thinks he finally understands the immediate trust Fantine's granted Valjean, that first time. It is hard not to feel safe when one's hold is so gentle and when he whispers comforting nothings under his breath.

Javert has never felt safe.

Not really.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

Not Fantine, Javert decides before he pulls a pillow over his head to mute Mirielle Thanoux's apology.

***

It has to be that thrice-damned child, surely.

***

He decides to test that theory the moment he bows before Valjean in the factory _again_. He is so used to doing this by now that he recites his lines mechanically and a little in a bored manner, like a dull and long prayer he knows by heart. That seems to amuse Valjean to no end, for some strange reason, and Monsieur le Maire is much more friendly to him this time round; maybe it's because Javert has cut down on hinting at the Mayor's potentially criminal past.

It seems like the fact that Javert cannot be bothered to care about anything that happens until the day the child - Cosette was her name? - enters the stage somehow puts Valjean at ease.

Strange indeed.

***

There are new things happening as well, of course; no life is ever exactly the same as any of the previous ones, and this time, this time Valjean is much bolder than he ever was. Perhaps it's because he senses no threat, this time; perhaps it's because Javert has decided against actively avoiding him as he once did.

But, there are touches. Innocent and not meant, at least at first. Valjean makes a point of brushing their shoulders whenever they walk together through the town. There's a warm hand on Javert's wrist when Valjean wants him to wait, there are fingers absentmindedly brushing against his own when Valjean takes a report from him, not merely orders him to leave it on his desk.

It's all very confusing.

There are, of course, still the dinner invites and the amused smiles, and both are even more freely given than before. This relaxed stature looks good on Valjean.

"Perhaps you would like to join me for a dinner and a drink, Inspector?" Valjean asks again, and his smile says that he expects a refusal and yet still hopes. Javert is feeling contradictory that day.

"Perhaps I will," he murmurs and the look of shock on Valjean's face is almost enough to make up for what a dull evening he's going to have.

But then the shock gives way to a brightest and most cheerful smile Javert has ever seen on the ex-con, and he forgets about the impending disaster altogether.

***

Afterwards, Javert is not exactly sure what happened, and who was more terrified by it, him or Valjean.

He is the one who died because of it, so he would like to selfishly claim victory in at least that.

***

It went something like this.

***

The dinner was excellent and the wine was strong. The fire casted a warm glow over the room. There was a cinnamon-apple tart served for dessert. It was all scarily nice.

After the dinner - which, surprisingly, did not end in a complete disaster though Valjean's housekeeper did lament Javert's supposed half-starved image - they moved to the armchairs in front of the fireplace. They drank their wine, and they discussed the going-ons of the town. Then Valjean decided to show something to his Inspector - neither of them could properly recall what it was supposed to be - and beckoned him to get up. They both did.

Valjean did show this something, and Javert nodded, and they were both standing too close to each other, and they wouldn't have if not for the warmth of the fire and the sweet song of the wine in their veins.

First there was Javert's wrist in Valjean's hand, then there were Valjean's lips on Javert's. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. When it started running again, it went at a double speed; Javert staggered backwards, Valjean proceeded to stutter apologies and pleas for the Inspector to stop and talk.

There was nothing to talk about; there were no words for Javert to describe the whirlwind of confusing and contradictory emotions running through him, and the shock and the surprise, for the sudden fear and shame and that curious and not unpleasant tingling of his lips.

It was all too much and Javert, not thinking too much about it, has come back to his rented room and penned a quick resignation.

***

Not that it ever reached anyone.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

This time, there will be no smiles, no dinners, no touches and no nothing. There's Fantine's child to take care of, Fantine's child's prosperous future to ensure and, hopefully, his own peace to be found.

Javert's fingers absentmindedly touch his lips, as if in a futile attempt to catch a ghost of a kiss.

***

The attempt to rescue Cosette is a noble one and fails miserably. Javert goes to the Thenardiers' inn on Valjean's behalf and fails to come back.

It's a clear sign that this was not a good idea.

There will be no further attempts at tweaking Cosette's fate, Javert decides. He's seen many a thing in his life as a guard and a policeman, but a brutal murder of an innocent child was the thing he saw this one time too many.

***

It occurs to him, over the course of the next two lives, that maybe the lesson here is not saving any lives; maybe it's preventing Valjean from destroying his own.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

He figures, if he does not write to the prefecture, Valjean will never find out about Champmathieu and will not denounce himself in Arras.

***

They do not avoid each other. Javert simply does his work and Valjean simply observes him with that amused smile which means something, but the meaning of which Javert cannot quite catch. It is a curious reversal of their Toulon days; whenever he goes and whatever he does, the warm eyes of Monsieur le Maire seem to follow. It is not entirely unpleasant, he must admit; whenever their gazes lock, Valjean nods his acknowledgement, removes the hat, as if he were seeing a friend and not simply an employee whose presence he has to bear.

The dinner invites, they still happen. Some things never change.

It is almost six months (and four lives) after the rainy morning of his yet again first day of service in M-sur-M that he says yes. This time, he is prepared for the brilliant smile that follows his agreement. This time, it still takes him by surprise.

There is no wine that evening; it is late June and it is unimaginably hot for that time of year. After eating a great duck prepared by the housekeeper, they seat themselves in the drawing room, not far from the empty fireplace, and much closer to a simple wooden chess set. Valjean hands him a glass of water and their hands brush when he does; Valjean's fingers, they linger a bit too long for it to be entirely accidental, they trace their path up Javert's forefinger before Valjean withdraws his hand and leaves Javert flushed more than even the warm June weather would make him.

"I hope that the plans of the fête will not cause you any additional work, Inspector," Valjean says as he sets out the pieces on the chessboard. Javert doesn't know how to play.

"They will not," he assures. And they won't; by know he knows all too well what and when will happen for it to cause any kind of disturbance.

"Which reminds me of something that I have been meaning to ask." Valjean pushes the white pieces towards Javert and the Inspector shrugs. He knows not how to play. Valjean takes notice of that for he switches the colours and sets out to explain the meaning and rules of the game.

"And what was that thing you meant to ask me, Monsieur?" Javert prompts after some time has passed and Valjean seemed to get lost in his explanations.

"Mhm?" Valjean's forefinger tips his lower lip in an almost obscene manner. "Ah, yes. About your name, Inspector. Everyone always addresses you by your surname, but surely, you do have a patron saint?"

Ah. It's the end of June, the Fête de la Saint-Jean is approaching and fires and merriment with it. It figures.

"I do," Javert concedes and bends over the chessboard to avoid looking in the Mayor's warm brown eyes, "but it hardly matters."

"It matters a great deal to me," he hears Valjean whisper and when he lifts his eyes, Valjean's face is too close. He must have leaned forward as well, and in doing so upset the pieces on the board, now lying scattered on the table, some even rolling off of it.

Javert licks his lips and Valjean's warm eyes dart to them immediately. There's a frown working its way onto his forehead.

"This feels--familiar," Valjean notes and yet he leans in even further. Their noses almost touch by this point, and Javert can feel Valjean's every exhale on his cheek. "Why does this feel familiar?"

'Because we have already done it once' would be an honest reply but it never comes, it is crushed under the pressure of lips on lips, swallowed as any lie Javert could have come up with if he could.

***

Javert quietly sends an inquiry to the prefecture about Jean Valjean and, when the time comes, receives a reply informing him of Champmathieu's arrest. He contemplates the letter for a whole day before firmly deciding on the course of action. Monsieur Madeleine is needed in Montreuil, that much is obvious. He has a life here, an obligation to his citizens and his workers. One man will be sent to the galleys so that countless others could prosper. 

So that Valjean could keep this little life of his.

Maybe even keep his Inspector as well.

(That is a strange thought.)

"Is something the matter, Javert?" Valjean asks him when Javert delivers his morning report.

Javert thinks about a letter from the prefecture burning a hole in the pocket of his coat, and shakes his head. The needs of the many.

"No, Monsieur le Maire."

And when later that day there is a brawl in the streets, Javert thinks that - by now, having so much knowledge on how fast things could go wrong - he should have anticipated that. He is maybe not ready, but certainly resigned to die again.

It's Valjean who takes the bullet fired by a madman on the street. It's Valjean who falls to his knees on a dirty street, with a blood-stain on his greatcoat. It's Valjean who frowns when he sees the wound and touches it with curiosity.

It was not supposed to go like this.

It is a surprise.

It is such a surprise that, much later, Javert is not able to recall what his own cause of death was.

***

(He briefly, very briefly, thinks that perhaps it was a broken heart.

But it is a stupid thought that is easily dismissed.)

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

Mirielle Thanoux apologizes for waking him, informs him of breakfast and Javert drags himself out of the bed. He washes and dresses, he eats the breakfast and goes off to meet the famous Monsieur Madeleine, the Good Mayor, all the while trying to discover what has he been doing wrong.

The revelation almost makes him trip and fall off the stairs in Madeleine's factory.

Has he truly been that prideful? Has he truly been that blind? This was a lesson for him, an opportunity for him to redeem himself and to make his existence worthwhile. What was the terrible waste he regretted and has not yet attempted to correct?

Paris. The Barricade. The young boys and the lie he had told them, the lie that certainly did not help them survive the night.

So overwhelmed he is that he almost misses his turn to speak to Valjean. The amused smile is back, but this time there is no time to appreciate it. Javert has a goal and a purpose.

It feels good.

Almost as good as the feel of Valjean's fingers on his when he hands Javert the rosary.

***

It's nine years of his life, the wait.

He does try to make most of the time that he has. The dinners at the Mayor's house become a weekly routine, as well as the games of chess. The first time Valjean presents him with a board Javert pretends he does not know how to play in order to have Valjean explain it again with clever words and nimble fingers. Valjean laughs a lot and it's a beautiful, heartfelt sound.

One day Javert finds that he smiles in return.

He almost doesn't inform Valjean of the Arras trial, but he remembers well what happened that one time he tried to conceal it: it was not only his life that was taken due to his decision. The second time someone else suffered too, it was a clear sign that Madeleine had to denounce himself and reveal his true name for the story to continue. He loathes to do it, but he does; that much he has learnt, some things you cannot escape.

Some are destined to happen.

The pursuit of Valjean and little Cosette is a laughable matter at best and Javert's heart is not truly in it. He lets them go and he spends those nine years keeping an eye out for them, but for entirely different reasons than he did the first time. 

This time, it's not a criminal that he searches for. This time it's a man who can laugh and joke and kiss, whose eyes are warm, hands sure and smile meant for Javert.

Paris grows uneasy with every passing day and Javert's mind turns to the barricades and the students, and the little brave boy. What could he do? Could he warn them prior? That would be treason. Could he go to them as a spy, again? They would not believe him. Could he go in his uniform and beg them to reconsider their own foolishness? They would not listen.

How does one save the lives of people more than ready to throw them away?

***

There is one other thing that Javert does once in Paris.

There once was a sister and her seven little children.

It takes time and skill to trace as much as a whisper of them, Javert however has both. There is, indeed, a sister, with one child, in Paris. The child is a grown-up man with curly brown hair and a good job and a sweet wife and a son, and he is a law-abiding honest citizen that Paris can be proud of.

There is no way to locate the other six so Javert contents himself with watching the man walk with his wife and little son and elderly mother through the park, once, three years before the barricades.

It's a lovely sight and it makes him miss Montreuil more than he ever thought he could miss anything.

***

At last, June of 1832 comes.

Javert covers his uniform jacket with a simple coat and volunteers to spy on the revolutionaries. He intends to go to them as a spy and reveal himself, in a sign of good faith. They did not kill him that last time and so he suspects they will not this time either.

He wonders if he'll meet Valjean this time too.

He thinks he might help him with that unconscious boy, this time.

***

He lifts his hands in the air, tells them his name and rank.

He forgot they had guns. He didn't appreciate how irrational terrified children can be.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

Javert is nothing if not stubborn and everything he sets to, he will see done. It's Valjean who tells him that, in the next life.

They're playing chess and Javert refuses to give up, even though Valjean is chasing his pieces all across the board and it became apparent to them both that the game is lost for Javert some ten minutes ago.

"Your stubbornness will be the death of you one day," Valjean chuckles softly as he finally tips his king. The piece falls onto the board and rolls around for a second before stilling. Javert's brows furrow.

"You should have won this game," he gestures at the fallen king, a clear indication that its commander decided to surrender the game.

"You would not let me."

Valjean leans in across the board and looks right into Javert's eyes, his gaze so earnest and piercing that Javert feels it can see to the bottom of his soul. He swallows when Valjean's thumb drags softly on his lower lip.

"This feels familiar," Valjean murmurs. His thumb doesn't stop its caress. "Why does this feel familiar?"

If Javert were to answer, he'd have to lie. He is not a good liar, so he refrains from saying anything. He bridges the almost nonexistent gap between the two of them and presses his lips to Valjean's.

***

The second time at the barricade, he knows precisely when that boy will denounce him so he's a little faster and fights a little quicker if not better. The students, they react accordingly. The blow dealt by the golden-haired leader is both a little more forceful and a little more lethal.

He most likely didn't mean for that to happen; if he did, he'd have ordered Javert killed in the first place, not merely tied up in the cafe. 

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

Javert wonders, very briefly, how the students reacted upon realizing that the spy they've captured was not unconscious but dead. He chuckles darkly as he imagines the face the one with curly dark hair probably made. 

Somehow it doesn't occur to him how strange it is that his own demise amuses him so.

***

The third time he tries to talk with the commander of the National Guard, after he offers to spy on them for the students. It doesn't go particularly well and the commander accuses him of treason.

It wasn't the best of his ideas, Javert decides. It's rather embarrassing, come to think of it.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

The fourth time he makes it till the moment Valjean comes into the cafe. Javert can't help the relief that momentarily floods him when this familiar silhouette appears in front of his eyes. Valjean takes the gun and the knife from the revolutionaries and he harshly walks Javert out of the cafe. He pushes him into an alley behind the building, looks back to check if they're not being followed and that they are indeed away from the prying eyes, and only then he takes out the knife and cuts the rope binding Javert's wrists.

Javert rubs his hands, trying to chase the numb feeling away. He feels the hesitant touch of Valjean's fingers on his cheek. Valjean's hands are trembling, he thinks.

"Are you unharmed?" Valjean asks and his voice is steady at the least. There is concern to be heard in the question, of the same kind with which Madeleine has inquired about his inspector's well-being back in Montreuil. He hasn't got rid of that affection, it seemed.

"I am well." Valjean looks relieved upon hearing it. "The barricade--"

"Is dangerous," Valjean carries on in that same concerned tone. "You need to get out of here."

Javert reaches out and grabs Valjean's jacket, his fingers curl in the dirty fabric of the uniform.

"You need to listen to me," he says frantically and then tries to briefly explain everything, the barricades, the children and their death, the blood that will stain the pavements come tomorrow morning. He might sound like a madman; he probably does sound like a madman. Yet Valjean does not interrupt him, only nods.

"Clear out of here," he says once Javert stops to take a breath. "I will talk to them. Just, get out--"

"Traitor."

One of the students emerges from behind the corner, without a doubt led here, to this alley, by their raised voices and the long time it's been taking for Valjean to execute the prisoner. He's holding a gun. He's aiming at Valjean's back.

Oh.

Javert clutches at the lapels of Valjean's jacket and uses all his strength to shove Valjean against the alley wall, to reverse their positions. In that spur of a moment he hears the gun go off.

_Oh._

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

There is no fifth time.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

He starts laughing maniacally.

"Is everything all right, Monsieur l'Inspecteur?" Mirielle Thanoux asks as she knocks on his door.

Javert can't form a coherent reply; in fact, he can't stop laughing. This is hilarious, this whole situation is hilarious. He had thought--he had thought this Purgatory, he had thought this an opportunity to redeem himself, to perhaps make better choices, to perhaps fix some of his past mistakes. But it's no Purgatory, there is no way to move forward from this point. There is no lesson to be learnt, there are no conditions to be fulfilled in order to be granted peace. This is his eternity, a forever loop of failure and mistakes and regret, with nothing to look for and nothing but this thrice-damned room at the end. So why bother?

It is hilarious indeed.

Javert reaches for his gun and almost cheerfully presses it against his temple.

***

_Bang._

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks--

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse--

***

It's a loud crack and a following--

***

It's a loud--

***

In the end, it all comes down to this. In the end he allows everything to play out just the way it did the first time, just the way it was always supposed to. And perhaps he is kinder to Monsieur le Maire, and perhaps he does dine with him and converse with him and play chess with him, and perhaps he is even his friend, but in the grander scheme of things it changes nothing, it just teaches Valjean to smile that amused smile of his that might mean more than Javert wants it to.

And, in the end, it all comes down to this one bridge over the Seine. The barricade fell and the students are dead, and with them that little street urchin, too brave for his own good. Valjean has taken one boy and dragged him through the sewers, and emerged under Javert's watchful eye. No doubt he's at his home now, caring for the boy for whatever silly reason he must have. The only person who still needs to play their part is Javert, standing tall and proud at the stone parapet.

"Your life is safe in my hands," Valjean had said to him before he cut the rope binding Javert's wrists. As if Javert needed reassurance. As if he feared that any harm would befall him from Valjean. The sole notion was ridiculous. Valjean would not; he seemed unable to rid himself of the affection he had for Javert, even after all these years and all the anger and disappointment unable to purge himself of whatever feelings he harboured.

They have all made they choices already, once upon a time. There is no way to go back from what has already happened, Javert thinks grimly as he rubs at his wrist. They all had their paths laid out for them. The students chose to sacrifice themselves in the name of an idea they believed in. Valjean chose to be a righteous man and save lives whenever he could, even when no one expected it of him. They were all good men. They all chose nobly. And Javert... Javert chose to take his life when he saw that the world around was not as simple as he'd wanted to believe it was. Javert chose to escape rather than to face the grim reality, where not everything was black and white and where he'd have to work hard to assess and pass judgment on all these shades of grey because they were not perfect, the same way nothing at all was perfect.

Perhaps it was Javert who was not a good man. Perhaps it was Javert who has chosen wrong.

(He must have chosen wrong, otherwise he would not be here still.)

The first time, he chose to jump off the bridge. Every choice he's made since then has resulted in his death. No matter what he chooses now, he will die. Maybe then he could choose a different death now. Maybe he could choose not to jump off the bridge. Maybe he could choose to see what improbable end will meet him if he gets off Pont-au-Change and just takes a walk across the city. Maybe he could.

So... he does.

Javert takes a step back and climbs down, off the parapet. He picks up his hat but doesn't put it on; he grips it tightly in his shaking hands as he makes his way off the bridge. He crosses over to the riverbank and nothing happens, the ground doesn't crack open under his feet. Javert lets out a small laugh. Incredulous. Stupid.

He walks slowly and cautiously across the city. He refrains from jumping and shivering at every louder noise, but it is a close thing; he's never been this scared while walking Paris at night. He's not even sure where he's going until he finds himself in front of the door to the house at Rue de l'Homme-Armé, no. 7.

He should not have come here. Something will happen no doubt, something inherently bad and with most grievous results. He should not be here.

He enters the building, goes up the stairs and knocks on the door. Then again, nothing has happened _yet_ , no brick has fallen on his head so perhaps he will have a moment of respite. Maybe there won't be a fire that will kill everyone.

"Javert," Valjean greets him as he opens the door. He is not surprised to see him. He makes a move as if to turn. "Allow me to just--"

"I am not here to arrest you," Javert cuts in. Valjean stops dead in his tracks and finally looks at Javert properly. His eyes widen when he notices the state that Javert is in.

"You are shaking," Valjean says. He grabs Javert's arm to steady him and then pulls him inside the house. The ceiling does not fall on them. "Are you unwell?"

"I should go," Javert insists and tries to twist his arm out of Valjean's grip. "I shouldn't--I should not--"

"You are pale as a sheet, Javert. You are in no state to go anywhere."

Valjean drags him into one of the rooms and pushes him onto the bed. He tells him to lie down and wait, promises to come back with something warm to drink and eat perhaps. Tells him that Javert can rest here and that later they will talk. Javert nods absentmindedly. He lies down on the bed - it's soft and the linens are fresh, it's much more comfortable than the bed in his own rooms - and decides to close his eyes and simply rest just for a second, before something inevitably kills him.

He does not notice when he falls asleep.

***

It's a loud crack and a following ugly curse and a loud laugh that wake Javert. Soft bright light peeks through the thin curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

Well then. He died. Again. Maybe this time, it was Valjean's kindness that was the death of him. It would be ironically poetic. He wonders what might have happened. Did he drown in the exquisite pillows and his breath was taken from him? Or perhaps he had come down with some sudden illness? Perhaps he was poisoned, with that warm drink that Valjean promised to bring? He laughs to himself. No, never that, Valjean would never do that. After all these years, all these lives, Javert knew him better than that.

And he would get to know him all over again, the moment he steps out of this bed. There was always that to look forward to, the one bright speck of light in this never-ending darkness.

There's a knock on the door. Mirielle Thanoux has surely come to apologize for her daughter crushing the teapot and to offer the breakfast that Javert will refuse. He does not feel like eating this morning.

"Javert, have I woken you up? Forgive me, but it appears that in my haste I have broken your plate. Cosette will prepare the breakfast instead."

Valjean's curly-haired head peeks from behind the door. He smiles when he notices Javert sitting up on the bed; the smile, however, quickly fades away and Valjean crosses the room to seat himself next to Javert. He puts his hand on Javert's forehead, checking if perhaps it is burning. It is not.

"Are you well?" he asks with concern. His hand slips down to rest on Javert's cheek. He does not move it any further. "You are not trembling anymore, but you are still pale. Has something happened after we have parted by the sewers?"

Javert swallows. He went to the bridge and he stood on the parapet, ready to once again jump into the black whirlpool below. He came off the parapet and walked here without an incident. Nothing has happened, nothing has happened at all. 

Nothing save for him giving up on his own too high standards and allowing himself to live in this imperfect world just for a while longer.

He becomes painfully aware of Valjean's hand on his cheek, of the way Valjean is sitting all too close to be considered purely innocent, of the way Valjean's warm brown eyes bore holes in his soul. He licks his lips and Valjean's gaze immediately flickers there.

"This feels familiar," Valjean suddenly says. "Why does this feel familiar? It feels as if I'm supposed to--kiss you--right now."

Just the way they have countless times before, in a countless number of lives, over a chess set in Madeleine's house in Montreuil.

"You may," Javert hears himself say and is as stunned by the sound of his voice as Valjean is. "You may--kiss me--right now."

Valjean smiles that loving amused smile of his that's meant for Javert and Javert alone. His other hand comes to cup Javert's other cheek, he leans slightly in and does exactly that.

***

And this is how it ends.

***

(It's a loud crack and a following ugly and high-pitched curse that wake Javert. Soft light peeks through the heavy dusty curtains of the room, making him squint and squirm. He groans and puts his arm over his eyes.) 


End file.
